


Drifting Away

by andthewhales



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Pacific Rim (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Tony and Steve, and then Tony and Jarvis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthewhales/pseuds/andthewhales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony were the perfect Jaeger team that no one had ever expected. And when Steve was lost during an unusual Kaiju attack, no one expected Tony to ever step into the drift again, least of all Tony himself. But, when building his own brand new drift partner becomes a reality, is it worth the risk?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarhooie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarhooie/gifts).



"Good moooooorning, sunshine!"

Tony made sure his groan was loud and obvious as he shuffled through the door of his lab, pointedly glaring at Clint, who was sitting in Tony’s chair with his feet up on the desk. The other man clicked his tongue and shot him an award-winning smile. Tony rolled his eyes and trudged onward, slowly circumventing the lab in his zombie-like state and cataloging the half-read stacks of paper, machine parts, blueprints, and questionable cups of what had probably once been coffee. Or motor oil. Or both, if Dummy had anything to do with it.

It had been weeks since the last time he was in the lab, opting instead to wrestle with the heaps of metal and spare parts in his garage, rebuilding old car models as well as some potentially less recreational vehicles. Tony was typically much more at home in his technological cave, but some weeks the strain of physical labor was essential to insuring he would sleep at night. How Clint had known he would be in the lab today instead of submerged in the engine of a muscle car, Tony had no idea. Nor did care.

"So, how long did it take you to bypass my latest security system?" Tony mumbled and signed sloppily as he approached, knocking Clint's feet off the desk and shooing him away. Clint could read lips remarkably well, even when the speaker was cranky and barely awake, but Tony had always signed as well. First out of respect, and then out of habit. Clint seemed to appreciate it, and it had actually made Natasha smile. 

The pilot hopped gracefully to his feet and hummed obnoxiously while sliding around Tony's stiff and obstinate form. Tony inspected the tabletop for scuff marks before dropping into the chair, rubbing at imperfections that weren't really there in feigned irritation.

"An hour and a half," Clint admitted, "You're getting better."

"Not enough, obviously, if I still have to walk into my own lab serenaded by an idiot."

Clint pouted his lips but moved to sit atop an empty lab table. At the urging of another glare, he dutifully turned his head away as the genius booted up his programs, fingers dancing across the keyboard to punch in a million different passwords in a matter of seconds. Tony was fairly certain there was no way Clint could memorize any of his passwords, or that he would have any reason to, but it was more the principle of the thing. It was his lab, dammit, he could be as secretive as he wanted. Once the lights of various screens began to flicker to life around them, the pilot turned back around.

"So, how was your morning?" He crooned cheerily.

"How about we skip pleasantries today and you just give me your latest list of demands and fuck off."

"Touchy," Clint admonishes, "What makes you think I brought a list? Can't I just drop by to say hello to my special friend?"

"No," Tony deadpans, fingers snapping together harshly, his mind already immersed in his work. Six new patents for Piper, plans for an improved global solar power system (not that it would ever get anywhere, when the members of the UN bitched and bickered more than Tony on a Monday), a little brother for Dummy and You, and now another security system, alongside whatever various projects might come to mind at any given moment. And, of course, the designs for his intruder's new helicopter.

"I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I'm really not here to talk shop," Clint said, "Phil and I wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight. And, you know, Natasha, too. But...kind of less of an invite from her and more a tolerant acknowledgement of your presence. Potential presence."

Tony's fingers stilled over the keyboard. "Excuse me?"

"Dinner. Food. Get out of your house for once. Breathe air that doesn't smell like oil and moldy food."

Tony snorted in frustration, "This has Fury written all over it. What, am I not doing enough? I sent out suggestions for updating the drift system AND patched his unfixable comms two months ago. I don't remember my contract saying anything about playing nice with assholes who trash my home security."

"Dude, come on. It's not like I'm asking you to diffuse a bomb. I'm trying to make friends here. Amigos? Clint friend. Clint want hang out." The archer signed his word with exaggeration and a painful slowness, like some sort of Sunday morning kids’ TV show host. Tony glared.

"I have plenty of friends. I'm building a brand new one as we speak."

"Stark, seriously -"

Tony whipped around to stare him down, brown eyes bloodshot and peering out over dark bags. This was hardly turning out to be the day he had planned for himself, and what little patience had managed to survive his years of hermit living was just about gone.

"Fuck. Off." He spat, stare unwavering and hands remaining motionless at his sides. Clint held the gaze for a few moments, but soon enough he sighed and looked away, frustration and disappointment clear on his face.

"It's been years since we lost Steve, Tony. You can't keep this up forever."

"Watch me." Tony didn't bother waiting to see Clint leave. He swiveled back to his computer screens and ignored the sound of the doors swishing shut as he was left in his chosen solitude. He didn’t give a damn about the years, hardly noticed them anymore except for when the pain and loss pressed in too close, tearing away at his focus until all that was left were the once pleasant memories. Times like now, when Barton’s goddamn words rang in his head insistently.

Tony and Steve had met at drift trials. He had been twenty-four when they finally found him a partner. He’d been legally eligible for the trials since age sixteen, a year after his father’s death, and had thrown himself at every chance to get into a Jaeger. His intelligence scores were the highest on record, even now, and his knack for tactic had been above average as well. But every brain is different, and although Tony would normally have been all too pleased to flaunt his uniqueness, each trial failed to provide him a compatible partner. Not only that, but a “volatile personality” and “poor respect for authority” were apparently sufficient grounds for getting on the program director’s bad side.

Fury had been, well, furious, that his prized Build-A-Soldier had ended up drift compatible with the biggest pain in his ass. And, at the time, Tony had been equally pissed. Steve had walked into the room like he owned it, an act Tony was much more familiar with performing than witnessing. So, true to form, Tony had lashed out, refusing to get down on bended knee for a patriotic, controlling, self-righteous asshole in tight pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: This chapter just got fixed up again because I realized that I'm the scum of the earth and forgot to write Clint as being Deaf/Hard of Hearing. So I tried to fix it up a bit. Given that in this 'verse Clint hasn't been deaf for too long (it will be discussed in later chapters), he still speaks pretty regularly and the amount of signing he does depends on who he's talking to and how he's feeling at the time. So, yeah. 
> 
> Again love to Zarhooie, for whom this is written. Cheers!


	2. Chapter 2

“Bullshit.”

Fury cast a dangerous glare in his direction. Or, at least half of a dangerous glare. Tony considered commenting on the eye-patch merely to maintain his quota for the day, but it hardly seemed worth it when the bastard already looked like he was trying to kill him with his mind.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s no way he’s compatible with me. Either you’re results are wrong, or you’re just trying to piss me off again. And I gotta say, if that’s the case, you’re losing your touch.”

“That’s hardly any way to speak to a superior,” the Captain interrupted with distain. Captain Steve Rogers. His supposed drift partner. Six-foot-two, if Tony were to guess, blond-haired, blue-eyed, clean shaven, and practically bursting at the seams with justice and muscle. 

“You’re absolutely right, and if I were talking to a superior, I assure you I would be using a much more appropriate tone,” Tony quipped with an arched brow and a tight-lipped smile. “Are we done here?”

“No, we’re not.” Rogers declared, clearly uncomfortable with the attitude. Big blue eyes flicked over Tony’s form, assessing, before glancing back at the Director. “Sir, are you sure about the results? This…doesn’t feel right.”

“They’ve been double-checked,” Fury sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Triple-checked, even. It’s one of the closest matches we’ve had in years.”

“I want to see them.” 

Fury picked up a neat stack of papers off the desk and handed them to Tony wordlessly. Tony blinked in surprised before quickly rifling through them, then cursing under his breath. Their overall compatibility ranked at 98%. An almost perfect match. Temperament, tactics, moral and ethical reasoning; they were all strong pairs, and if it had been anybody else’s scores, Tony would have been impressed. Given the reality of the situation, however, the only emotion he could seem to dig up was irritation.

He had encountered Rogers before testing had started. The conversation had been less than cordial. And regardless of what any witnesses may say, Tony had not been the one to start it. 

“I am not letting some judgmental asshole shove his self-entitled brainwaves into my head space,” he bit out and tossed the papers back onto the desk with disdain.

“Neither am I.”

“I…fair point, actually. I am a self-entitled asshole. Well spotted, Captain Tight Pants. I’m also a genius, so really, I can entitle myself all I want. This won’t work, we both know it. Nick, have a good day.”

Tony left Fury’s office in what could definitely be considered a huff. But, given the fact that he was the only one not shouting obscenities as the door swung shut behind him, he thought that made him rather more dignified than petulant.

It only took three days of ignored phone calls before Fury and his minions literally kicked down Tony’s door and dragged him out to the training site. Rogers was already there when they arrived. He’d probably been waiting like a well-behaved Labrador, Tony thought smugly. As he opened his mouth to share the insight aloud, a gloved reprimanding finger was thrust in front of his face.

“Don’t. Talk.” Fury warned. “I don’t even have the patience to tell you how little patience I have right now. Kaiju attacks are increasing. They’re coming up bigger, stronger, and more dangerous than we can handle and I do not need the best pair of pilots I’ve ever come across bitching and moaning about not liking one another when the world is literally at stake! You have one week to get over yourselves. After that, I don’t care if I have to fuse you into your suits myself, you will be copiloting a Jaeger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these are probably going to be more random drabbles with in the AU than actual chronological chapters. But zarhooie seems content with that, so there you go.


	3. Chapter 3

One of the first things Tony learned about Steve was that he sang in the shower. To be fair, so did Tony, but for the scientist it had always a half-minded thing, the tail end of songs he didn’t know all the words to, songs that were annoying, songs that weren’t even in English. Bits and pieces belted out unnecessarily loud and without rhythm, pitch, or even provocation. It had annoyed the hell out of Pepper, during the brief time that they’d lived together, but he’d never quite grasped the art of giving a damn, and had consequently never tried to change.

With Steve, it was an entirely different experience. His voice was steady and clear and calming in ways Tony actively avoided thinking about, even when muffled by the sound of running water and a closed door. He quietly hummed and lilted out cheesy show tunes that Tony only recognized after he caved and looked them up, old American classics, and the occasional church hymn. And every once in a while his ears caught onto familiar words, maybe something he’d heard when he was a kid but had discarded as it lacked usefulness.

He caught glimpses of them through the drift during practice, too. As it turned out, even the perfect Captain got distracted in the more boring parts of drill. And after both their bodies and minds became attuned to the motions, jump, run, aim, tackle, fight, fight, fight, the simpler things begin to flash across their shared subconscious more frequently. Things like checklists, and did I leave the stove on, and the songs that got stuck in their heads. Soon enough, Tony’s got the words to all of them memorized. As well as the bands’ names and logos and history because, really, if he’s going to end up invested, he’ll to do a damn good job of it.  
He didn’t think much of it, initially. They were bound to pick up on a few of each other’s habits, any pilot would have said the same. And if he’d been cursed with a few extra tunes to shout out during his own showers, so be it. It was hardly relevant.

Or at least it wasn’t. Not until one night, when he’d practically been screeching out the words to some catchy pop song, and suddenly Steve’s voice appeared right next to his, much softer, decidedly more in tune, but cheerily bouncing along all the same.

“Hey!” he shouted abruptly, turning to glare despite the fact that Steve obviously could not see him through the bathroom door. “No, no, this is a solo act. Don’t think you can cut in on my number just because we’re new best brain buddies.”

Steve snorted loudly in the other room. “I wouldn’t call it cutting in so much as trying to cover up. There’s only so much one man can takes.”

“Screw you, it’s called an acquired taste.”

“Italian opera is an acquired taste. Listening to a howler monkey scream in your bathroom every night is unjustified torture.”

“You know, I don’t put much stock into the opinions of someone who’s musical taste can be carbon dated. You’re twenty-four, not- Fuck!”

When his ass hit the hard tile of the shower floor, quickly followed by the shower curtain and rod he’d grabbed in a desperate attempt to save himself, Tony made a mental note to avoid excessive gesticulation while bathing. Then Steve burst through the door, all confusion and trained defense, to ascertain the cause of the crashing and swearing, and Tony made another mental note to lock said door during future use. His hands scrabbled at the curtain’s flimsy plastic as he hastily covered his delicate bits and pretended that his cheeks didn’t feel very, very warm.

“This would be your fault, in case you were wondering,” he informed Steve, who had taken to standing over him, hand across his mouth in an attempt to hide the smile.

“I’d argue, but I feel like you’re already losing this round.” Steve offered him a hand, which Tony scowled at, leaning away and dramatically clutching the shower curtain closer.

“Get thee gone, Captain Creep, so I can make myself decent.”

Steve rolled his eyes at the immature antics, but the smile was still on his face, and it was neither cruel nor mocking as Tony had expected. Just amused. He started humming on his way out of the bathroom, the same song that began the whole mess, and Tony got the itching feeling that it was going to be in his head for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has absolutely nothing to do with plot. Apologies, and I hope you were amused.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A horrible, useless, and completely unrelated drabble thing about how Natasha came to hate Tony a little bit less.

Natasha had quickly warmed up to Steve Rogers when she and her team were assigned to the Iron Patriot. Steve was someone she respected, admired, even liked. He wore his heart on his sleeve and his honesty like a badge, and his handsome features certainly added to his quality. He was the boy next door she would have dreamed of as a little girl, had she been the sort of little girl to dream of sweet things like that.

His drift partner, however, left a lot to be desired. Tony Stark was a privileged man with excessive talent, a traumatic past, and no respect for authority. Admittedly, he was no more childish than Clint (and, oh, how she’d wanted to weep the day the two of them realized their mutual immaturity), and Coulson at least respected him for his astounding work developing Jager technology. But his brash combination of arrogance, carelessness, and apathy, mixed with a level of sarcasm that could match her own, left a foul taste in her mouth.

They’d only ever interacted during training and in the field, where Stark was able to maintain a level of professionalism for the sake of safety. Natasha speculated that Steve’s authoritative nature might also have something to do with it; she’d seen the looks Stark gave him, and even though the scientist often played the petulant child in the face of the Captain’s leadership, it was clear that the two men respected and understood each other in some way Natasha couldn’t quite place.

The first time they managed a completely enjoyable interaction with one another was a day that Natasha still had trouble admitting ever actually happened. Stark had been working on better aquatic technology for the Jagers for months and had finally deemed his new modifications to the Iron Patriot worthy of a trial run. A few more months of arguing with Fury, and they’d finally been granted a trip across the bottom of the ocean from Florida to DC, with Coulson, Clint, and Natasha piloting the copter above them.

It had sounded like a painfully boring mission, flying slow above the great hunk of metal miles below the surface of the water. But about half an hour in, Stark’s voice had crackled on over their speakers.

“How pleasant,” he’d chirped in a painfully poor English accent.

“Tony, no,” came Steve’s reply, sounding as though he’d meant for it to be stern but failing terribly. It was the voice Natasha had heard him use all too often when responding to Stark’s terrible jokes or when attempting to placate the scientist when he was having an unnecessary tantrum.

“Bobbing along,” Stark sung despite the warning, “Bobbing along on the bottom of the beautiful briny sea.”

Above them in the helicopter, Clint had all but choked on his own spit in laughter at the lyrics. He’d looked over at Natasha with the worst kind of mischievous glint in his eye, the kind that said she was about to sincerely regret ever having watched Bedknobs and Broomsticks.

“What a chance to get a better peek,” Stark sang.

“At the plants and creatures of the deep,” Clint had suddenly joined in, grinning ear to ear at Natasha as he’d done it, and she swore she had heard Steve cough to cover his own laughter far below them.

“No.” Coulson and Fury’s voices had echoed in tandem over the headsets, but it was too late.

“We gliiiiiiide far below the rolling tiiiiiiiiide. Sereeeeeeeeene, through the bubbly blue and greeeeeen. It’s lovely,” The pair of them squawked, and Natasha had known that if Stark were up there with them, he’d have been waggling his eyebrows at her right along with Clint. The bastards.

The two sung a few more bars, ignoring the increasingly angry shouts of their superiors until the headsets suddenly cut out, at which point Steve’s laughter could be heard as well before he, too, joined the boys in their serenade. Clint had still been giving her suggestive glances, hoping and praying to a god neither of them cared for, and for some unknown reason, she hadn’t been able to resist.

Perhaps it was the fondness she had for the film Clint had shared with her years before. Perhaps it was just the mood of the day, or the fact that even Steve was engaging in the childish sing-along; she really had no idea what had inspired her in that moment to let her professional mask down and play nice with them all.

“Bobbing along, singing a song, on the bottom of the beautiful briny sea,” She had finally chimed in, with perfect pitch and timing. Stark had barked out a hearty laugh of surprise.

“Natasha, you secretive treasure, you! Never would have guessed!” Tony had cheered over the coms before proceeding to hum out the instrumental interlude so badly that Natasha had difficulty keeping track of what part of the song they were even on. Clint, of course, supplied the special effects, bubbles and cha chas and all. Coulson wept.

If anyone asked about that mission, not a single one of them would say a damn thing about the song, largely because she’d threatened everything they held dear should that particular secret get out. But once they’d reached their destination successfully, Tony had greeted her back on solid ground with a bright smile and a clever joke, which she had accepted as gracefully as possible. They were by no means friends, but that damned foolish song had given them at least a piece of camaraderie on which they could later build.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, these are going to be kind of disconnected bits and pieces from my "Stony Pacific Rim AU" brain. One day they might be put together in an appropriate order to form an actual story. For now, it' just this. Hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked the first chapter, Zarhooie! And anyone else who read it as well. It feels a little rushed, but I'll fix that later if I find time. I can't promise regular updates, but I can guarantee that it will be finished before I'm dead. Also, constructive criticism is always welcome, just play nice.


End file.
